Dearest Darkness
by The Fictionist
Summary: "What is done out of love must always take place beyond good and evil" - Frederick Nietzsche. Sacrifices aren't limited to the Chosen One, the world isn't so black and white, and Hermione Granger came in contact with Horcruxes too.
1. Reflections

Reflections

Hermione's eyes widened with horrified realisation as she stared at the hastily torn out page in her hand - she had to show someone! Then, maybe, this whole horrible ordeal would be over.

A basilisk…how had no one ever guessed before? A snake for Slytherin's monster, for the house and man famous for its serpentine emblem…and a basilisk was the King of Serpents.

Her heart pounded furiously in her chest as she quickly transfigured herself a mirror, hurrying down the corridor. Most people were heading down to the Quidditch match, and that was where she would go too.

The teachers could make a school-wide announcement now that they knew what they were fighting, which would surely help! No one would die, because they'd know to keep their eyes shut or check around corners with mirrors, and being petrified was far better and more temporary than being dead.

She'd already warned a Ravenclaw girl rushing past her - it was the Ravenclaw prefect, Penny, or something, and though it had taken some time to convince the other girl that she actually knew what she was talking about, the Ravenclaw had ultimately conceded to the logics of her research, growing equally horrified.

She'd promised to spread the word.

Filled with her mission, Hermione marched down the corridor, trying not to let her hands shake as she raised the mirror to check the corridor.

Nothing.

She hurried around, angling her mirror so she could look at it to see where she was going, instead of facing forwards directly.

It was slower going, but it would be worth it. She couldn't be stopped before she shared what she knew! Of course, the teachers may have already had an idea, but it wouldn't do any harm just to tell anyway…though if they had known then wouldn't they have told everyone and put the necessary precautions in place already?

She saw another figure around the corner before her.

It was a dark haired Slytherin, maybe about sixteen or seventeen, moving confidently towards her with a regal arrogance in his stride. She looked up, nervously, despite herself. The Slytherins could be a nasty bunch to a lone Gryffindor mudblood, though she liked to think she could handle herself .

Ginny.

Wait…what?

She looked down at the mirror again, to see the reflection of where the other girl was standing.

The dark haired boy was back.

Hermione swallowed, suddenly feeling very unnerved, glancing up again, an icy chill tingling down her spine. He came to a halt, a metre away from her, his gaze dark and appraising with none of the timidity the youngest Weasley had shown all year.

He - she? Hermione was so confused, and looked down at the mirror once more.

The boy stood tall next to her, dark eyes cool and assessing with a vague gleam, before they slowly dropped down to the mirror too, where their gazes met and locked.

It felt like those few seconds could have lasted forever, she was lost in the shadows. After a moment, the eyes flicked back up to her face again, releasing her from their captivity, and a smirk crossed his lips.

"You're Harry Potter's friend, aren't you?" he questioned.

He didn't sound like Ginny; his voice was smoother, cultured, and hard to place to any particular area.

"Who are you?" she demanded, hating how strained her voice was. "What have you done to Ginny? Are you-_what_ are you?"

"My name is Tom Riddle," he replied, still smiling. It was a charming, _dangerous_, smile.

The colour drained from her face, and she stumbled back a step. How-? That wasn't right, it shouldn't be possible. Tom Riddle had been in…he'd…she looked up from the mirror to see Ginny again, standing exactly where Tom Riddle was.

Bile clawed up her throat.

Tom Riddle was a memory, a boy from a diary fifty years ago…the diary.

Fifty years ago. Last time the chamber had been opened had been fifty years ago.

Oh god.

She glanced back down sharply at the mirror once more, clutching it white-knuckled in her fist.

"You're the heir of Slytherin," she whispered. It wasn't a question.

His head tilted back slightly and, somehow, his eyes fixed on her with an even greater intensity. There was curiosity in those dark orbs, a surprise, not quite admiration, but intrigue, a smidgen of respect.

Her mouth felt dry. This was so bizarre!

"Clever girl," he praised, a smirk twisting his lips once more. "You seem to have this all figured out. Impressive."

His eyes dropped to the mirror, staying there now, watching her reflection as she watched his - or, it wasn't really his reflection, was it? She didn't know and hated the feeling, and clenched her jaw, abruptly glaring at him, coming to her senses.

"Oh, you mean you can lower yourself to compliment a mudblood like me?" she spat furiously. He was clearly a terrible person, a bigot, a murderer. "Let Ginny go; are you possessing her or something?"

"Or something," he replied easily.

It made her blood freeze. He wouldn't be responding like this if he didn't think he could get away with it. If he didn't think she wouldn't tell...her breathing grew shallower.

"Are you going to kill me?" she refused to let the fear show in her voice, though wasn't sure how well she managed. His smile broadened, his head tilting.

"How is it that a twelve year old girl can figure out what the entire Hogwarts faculty cannot?" he questioned instead, not answering. Which wasn't all that reassuring.

"I read a lot," she replied stiffly.

"Indeed," he murmured, still eyeing her, before shrugging gracefully.

She found it easier to watch the mirror than to see the eleven year old girl he was possessing - and, abruptly, rancid nausea filled her insides once more.

Poor Ginny! What would the Weasley's think? How had this happened? What would Ron say?

"Well," he sighed, "it was a nice meeting you Hermione Granger. It's truly a pity your blood is so filthy, but…we can't always help our beginnings…" He studied her for a moment longer, something indefinable in his expression. "I suppose you realise I can't let you share what you know. It could be inconvenient, you understand, but believe me when I say it's been a _pleasure_."

She stared at him. It felt like the world had stopped, she didn't know what to do, what to say. She'd never expected this - any second he was going to pull out Ginny's wand and curse her and kill her.

She flinched involuntarily as he reached out, that smirk on his lips, that gleam in his eyes, and he paused for a few seconds, fingers wrapping around her own.

"Study hard now, won't you?" he murmured. "Miss Hermione Granger..."

Then, without another word, he tilted her mirror away from his face, to reflect the space behind her shoulder instead.

Yellow eyes.

She dropped.

* * *

Hermione had been out the Hospital Wing for a couple of hours now, and Harry had only just finished detailing to her the story of how things had been resolved in her absence.

She, herself, for whatever reason, hadn't told them about her own meeting with Tom Riddle.

She didn't know why, she just...it wasn't like it had been anything important.

They didn't ask about what happened to her anyway, they probably didn't assume she would have come face to face with the Slytherin Heir.

The Slytherin Heir…the teenage Voldemort.

She shivered. Poor, poor Ginny. She must be absolutely devastated, horror struck.

Hermione couldn't believe she'd held a conversation with Voldemort, it was so strange. And he'd…well, he hadn't been exactly what she expected.

Harry said he'd been a half blood. Hot fury burned in her heart at the thought - what right did he have to judge and condemn Muggle borns when he'd been raised as one of them! He knew what it was like!

Maybe that was the problem.

Harry had said he'd hated his muggle father's name…maybe there was something there, some story, that so raised his ire. A projection of his hatred.

She didn't know. It was…confusing.

He'd said that 'we can't help our beginnings,' and maybe that was what he'd been referring too. His own beginnings, as much as hers.

She shuddered slightly to think of any similarities between them, but seeing as she wasn't in the habit of deluding herself, with frank honesty she had to admit there were some from all she'd heard about Tom Riddle.

Or his persona anyway.

He'd been Head Boy and Prefect, hadn't he? She'd aimed for those things too. She liked studying like him, and she liked to think she was smart, like he was said to be.

She bit her lip, uncertain.

She didn't see why she was trying to identify with Tom Riddle anyway.

He just didn't make sense, and she liked things to make sense.

For example, he'd tilted the mirror when he could have spun her around to meet the gaze of the Basilisk directly, or had it attack her and end her life permanently…but he hadn't.

_Why?_

He'd known she'd worked it out too. It just didn't make sense. Tom Riddle didn't make sense. He'd _spared _her. Voldemort didn't do that, not for mudbloods like her…even if he was a halfblood himself.

Her mind was spinning, her lips tightened.  
She steered the conversation over to their imminent summer holidays.

Tom Riddle had stole enough of her time this year already.

* * *

_A/N: So, this is going to be in about 5 parts, I think, bouncing off canon into the relationship and memories between Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger. For example, canon never went into what happened in the Chamber with the Cup, and Hermione also had the Locket and so forth..._

_It's the first time I've ever written anything with these two, (I was challenged, and now I'm terrified at the thought of posting as this isn't what I normally do, and I've never read a Tomione or whatever they're called) so if it was absolutely crap, blame that and my lack of expertise._

However, I do very much hope you enjoyed it, and will stick with me for this experiment :) Feedback is much appreciated. 


	2. Fear

Fear:

It was only when Hermione saw Ginny Weasley over the summer that thoughts of Tom Riddle resurfaced again, and the incessant questions which circled her head.

Why had he bothered to spare her, a mudblood? It didn't make any sense. She wondered if Ginny had any recollection of 'being Tom,' and almost didn't want to find out.

Before, throughout the summer, she'd had travelling with her parents to occupy her, and later the news that Harry had ran from his relatives house and the whole 'Aunt Marge incident' was enough to fill her thoughts. The present had done a convincing and sufficient job at blocking such potentially futile musings from her mind.

After all, she could never know why Tom Riddle had chosen to spare her at that moment, could she? Part of her wondered if he'd just in some way identified her to his own past..what with the similarities in their bookish natures.

Then she decided that was ridiculous.  
A shared love of learning couldn't possibly account for such an act, not from the ghost or memory of a teenaged dark lord. Especially not from one who so despised her kind, the 'filth' of her blood...more, the best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived.

It didn't make logical sense, she didn't like it.

She didn't think she was one of those girls that needed everything neatly ordered and fit into boxes and stereotypes, but she did like it to make sense, and for the world to have a semblance of structure and order to it.

An apple went up, gravity pulled it down.  
Of course, this had been somewhat changed and softened by her introduction to magic, where lots of things didn't seem to make scientific sense - she could tell already that a lot of wizards and witches lacked in logic because of this. Nonetheless, she didn't like loose threads, or unanswered questions.

Tom Riddle was an unanswered question, and it _haunted _her.

Perhaps it was silly to be fixated on such a seemingly trivial thing, when Ginny and Harry had received far worse scars than her, but the knowledge of this didn't diminish the sensation.

Speaking of, she'd caught Ginny studying her sometimes, with an odd look on her still-pale face. The youngest Weasley had brightened somewhat as sunny days crept on, and Hermione thought she must be stronger than most people gave her credit for.

She may have been foolishly tricked, trusting a diary that could think for itself, but...well, Hermione could think of other people who would and could have been similarly tricked.

She may have been, herself, with her lack of knowledge of the magical world and how things worked. Ginny may have had some more of this upbringing, but...well, in the magic world such a mistake would be no difference to any mistakes muggle children made in the muggle world.

It was foolishness, yes, but understandable foolishness.

She wondered if Ginny remembered 'being Tom', and, hence, the conversation they'd had. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know, and yet she did, but didn't want to bring up such dark and troubled memories up again for the younger girl - especially as she seemed to be trying so hard and valiantly to forget about it.

It was their last night before going to Hogwarts, staying at the Leaky Cauldron, and she and Ginny were doing last minute packing, sharing a room.

"Hermione?" Ginny began, hesitantly. She looked over. Though Ginny had started opening up more, revealing what must have been her previous, naturally vibrant and fiery personality, she still leaned towards quiet shyness, nightmares.

"Yes?"

"You met him, didn't you...Tom? You have questions."

Hermione froze in place, turning to face Ginny more directly.

"You don't have to talk about this," she began, though she couldn't deny her burning curiosity.

"-I want to," Ginny interrupted, before her voice softened. "Tom's...everyone tells me to forget about him, to move on...they say I shouldn't bottle everything up, but then mum and dad get uncomfortable whenever I want to talk about him to them. I-I don't mind, I don't."

Hermione studied her for a moment, before nodding.  
"Does that mean you...that you remember?" she asked, mouth dry.

"Not all of it," Ginny shrugged, almost helplessly. "Most of it's a big black blur...being him, I mean...or him being me...or," she swallowed, waving a hand. "You know. Whatever."

"But?"

"But sometimes I get flashes," she admitted. "He poured so much of himself into the me by the end that I can't help but understand him. I know everyone wants and expects me to hate him for what he did to me...but I _can't. _It may have been a trick, but it felt so real to me - it was real to me. The Tom Riddle I knew was my friend, even if he later wasn't. I understand him. It was real to me."

"Do you understand why he spared me?" Hermione asked softly, eyes lit with curiosity.

"No," Ginny murmured, regretfully almost. "For once, I don't think even he fully knew. It was a spur of a moment decision on his part."

That really didn't help.

"But he must have been thinking something when he did it!" she protested, frustrated, almost desperate. Ginny shrugged, a tad helplessly.

"You reminded him of himself, a little bit," she replied. "He saw you making polyjuice...I don't really know though, it's a bit of blur on my side of the spectrum. He - he didn't want me 'whining' to him, in the end...but I think, but no...it's not possible..." Her voice cracked a little, despite her seeming efforts to prevent that.  
Hermione's insides twisted with sympathy, and she nodded once, sharply.

"Right. Well, thanks," she mumbled.  
Ginny continued to watch her for a moment, pensively, almost troubled, before returning to her packing.

* * *

Despite her best efforts, Tom Riddle continued to haunt her through her Third Year. She thought it may have been the Time Turner, so taunting in its possibility, that only exacerbated the memories.

Theoretically, she could have gone back to a time when Tom Riddle wasn't Voldemort, and wasn't a Dark Lord, and attempt to reform him. It was a silly idea, but it crept up on her occasionally - a ghostly what if scenario.

Now, she found herself face to face with him again.  
It was jarring, she didn't expect it, and part of her knew he wasn't _really _there...

Her boggart.

She'd done everything perfectly, smooth sailing, and then she was in that hidden trunk area.  
She didn't know what she'd been expecting.

Not him.

Tom Riddle looked exactly the same as he had in the mirror; but, of course, he couldn't hardly look different.

He lunged forwards as she opened her mouth to scream, clamping a hand over her lips to prevent it.

"Miss Granger," he purred. Every second he seemed to grow more real. She jerked back, alarmed, her mind frozen from casting the 'riddikulus' spell. "How does it feel to know you've failed?" He caught hold of the time turner around her neck, chokingly, before letting the gold chain slip through his fingers.

Her eyes followed it; and all the thoughts of going back in time, of somehow changing things, splurged back over her. His eyes gained a greater weight, heavier with the weight of her fears and the life she was bestowing on him in mindless shock or terror.

She didn't know why he was here, on what scared her so much. It was absurd.

"I-_you're _not my responsibility!" she snapped, angrily, stuffing the time-turner away out of view again, her heart hammering furiously in her chest. She felt sick.

He raised a brow.

"Then who's responsibility is it when you have the means? You failed, along with everyone else, in failing to stop me, in failing to prevent the existence of Lord Voldemort."

"That's ridiculous!" she cried. "I'm thirteen!"

"Which absolves you or the choices and possibilities?" He returned, unyielding, before offering her a sly smirk. "Maybe you could have connected with me, where the others failed. I obviously saved you for a reason..."

"You're not _real_."

"I'm real in your head, I'm as real as I am and was to Ginny Weasley. Your fear gives me strength, like the diary did...you're smart, you can see the comparison. Of course you can, and I don't know why you're arguing with me considering these are your thoughts as much as mine. You know that, Hermione, you're not stupid."

She stared at him, bile wanted to claw up her throat.

"Time shouldn't be meddled with, I'm not arrogant enough to think I can change the past without disasterous consequences and I - my parents - I'm _thirteen!"_

"And you can't therefore take responsibility? No one does, you know. Not with me...because it's easier to assume the inevitability of a monster over the murder of something once human. I mean, here you are, creating me...giving me immortality."

He took another step forward once more, breath like ice on her ear - growing warmer, more real and solid every second.

"In refusing to use the chances gifted to you," he whispered, palm flattening over her neck and the golden chain, curling around it again slightly. "You failed. You are a failure Hermione Granger, and, deep down, you know it - that's why you try so hard to be the smart one. Compensation. You know your friends only keep you around for homework help, don't you? They don't actually _like_ you." He laughed, icily. "Who would ever like _you?"_

Hermione reared back, heart hammering with unvoiced doubts and fears, of failures both imagined and real.

And then she just ran, unable to quite help herself.

Ron and Harry looked quite concerned at her state upon leaving the Boggart Trunk, and she made up some silly excuse and near truth about McGonagall telling her she'd failed everything because the real thing seemed so ridiculous, and they never knew or had asked.

It felt so stupid in the bright sunshine, and she couldn't stop shaking however hard she mentally scolded herself and tried to stop. The Time Turner suddenly seemed like a dead-weight around her neck, and her mind couldn't help but spin over what-ifs and possibilities that could only reasonably - logically - go unanswered.

But fear was rarely logical or rational.

And when everything turned out well, and they saved Sirius and Buckbeak, the what-ifs only grew stronger.

And if she kept that time turner...well, McGonagall never did quite ask for it back like she'd said.

All she knew was, the next time she met Tom Riddle, if she did - he was never going to get the better of her again!  
Fear was made to be mastered.

* * *

_A/N: So, I'm ashamed how long this took me, and the quality isn't brilliant. It feels kinda like a filler chapter, but then, the Horcruxes don't really come in until later do they ;) I hope it wasn't too much of a chore to read either way, I find Hermione and Tom quite difficult...but we shall see. Thank you so much for your continued support 3 Partially inspired because I always found it strange that Hermione's Boggart would really be McGonnagal telling her she'd failed her exams...failure, I can understand...but I think it would be on a greater scale.._


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